“You did it perfectly,” Baird assured him.
“Kid, you’re a wonder,” declared the Montague girl. “I’m that tickled with you I could give you a good hug,” and with that curious approach to hysteria she had shown while looking at his stills, she for a moment frantically clasped him to her. He was somewhat embarrassed by this excess, but pardoned it in the reflection that he had indeed given the best that was in him. “Bring all your Western stuff to the dressing room tomorrow,” said Baird.
Western stuff—the real thing at last! He was slightly amazed later to observe the old mother outside the set. She was not only smoking a cigarette with every sign of relish, but she was singing as she did a little dance step. Still she had been under a strain all day, weeping, too, almost continuously. He remembered this, and did not judge her harshly as she smoked, danced, and lightly sang,
Her mother’s name was Cleo,
Her father’s name was Pat;
They called her Cleopatra,
And let it go at that.
CHAPTER XIV. OUT THERE WHERE MEN ARE MEN
From the dressing room the following morning, arrayed in the Buck Benson outfit, unworn since that eventful day on the Gashwiler lot, Merton accompanied Baird to a new set where he would work that day. Baird was profuse in his admiration of the cowboy embellishments, the maroon chaps, the new boots, the hat, the checked shirt and gay neckerchief.
“I’m mighty glad to see you so sincere in your work,” he assured Merton. “A lot of these hams I hire get to kidding on the set and spoil the atmosphere, but don’t let it bother you. One earnest leading man, if he’ll just stay earnest, will carry the piece. Remember that—you got a serious part.”
“I’ll certainly remember,” Merton earnestly assured him.
“Here we are; this is where we begin the Western stuff,” said Baird. Merton recognized the place. It was the High Gear Dance Hall where the Montague girl had worked. The name over the door was now “The Come All Ye,” and there was a hitching rack in front to which were tethered half-a—dozen saddled horses.